On the Run
by razztaztic
Summary: What if the worst thing you could ever do was the only choice you had? The story of Max and Ruth Keenan, and the day they disappeared.
1. Chapter 1

_December, 1991 . . . . ._

He was wandering rather aimlessly through the town's Christmas bazaar when it happened. The hair at the back of his neck stood on end in a feeling he recognized instantly.

Resisting the impulse to turn around, Max Keenan continued his meandering trek through the stalls and vendors, looking for a spot from which he could unobtrusively study the crowd. Finally, he found a music store with a rack of sale items arranged in front of a large window. He bent over the display and pretended to study the CDs and cassette tapes as he glanced into the reflection the plate glass provided.

His blood ran cold.

A face he hadn't seen in thirteen years – one he'd hoped never to see again – was in the crowd behind him.

For the next twenty minutes, the man known as Matthew Brennan pretended to be unaware of his silent follower and continued to act like any other father out shopping for last minute Christmas gifts. He made a few purchases and then headed away from the shops.

A silent warning blared in his head as he approached his car from the rear.

_That damn bumper sticker. And if they trace the license plate . . ._

Decision made, Max walked past the car and kept walking until he noticed another vehicle left unlocked.

_Thank God for trusting souls. _

_Careful to keep his movements easy and natural, he opened the door, tossed the shopping bags into the back seat and slid inside, then bent over as if he were retrieving something from the glove box. Instead, his fast hands worked quickly beneath the dash to hotwire the car's ignition. _When the engine roared to life, he sat up, glanced casually over his shoulder and pulled into the flow of traffic.

Within five minutes, careful scrutiny through his rear-view mirror picked up the car tailing him.

He drove slowly through the streets of the small town, carefully following every traffic law as he scanned his surroundings and waited for the right opportunity. That moment came as he approached a large, busy intersection just as the traffic light facing him turned yellow. At the last minute, he hit the gas and raced through the light. The car behind him was trapped by the flow of traffic.

Max sped through one street after another until he was completely sure he'd lost his pursuer. A multi-story parking garage caught his attention; he turned in, quickly found a spot and raced into the connecting office building's lobby in search of a payphone.

A few miles away, Christine Brennan hummed softly as she hung the last of the Christmas decorations and stepped back to admire her work. The harsh buzz of a kitchen timer, followed almost immediately by the ring of a telephone, interrupted the moment of appreciation. Hurrying, she grabbed the phone from the wall and sped to the kitchen to remove a hot cherry pie from the oven.

"Hello?"

"Torpedo." The voice on the other end was harsh, low and insistent. "Hawkins Field, by the pond, twenty minutes. Alone."

For a moment, she stood frozen.

"Tor…Torpedo?"

It had been thirteen years since they'd discussed that code word. Surely . . .

Her head shook in denial. "No."

"Torpedo," Max repeated. "Twenty minutes. Alone."

"Alone?" She blinked in surprise as she tried to wrap her head around the shocking developments. "Why -"

"Alone."

The line went dead.

Christine's eyes blurred with tears as she fumbled for her purse and keys. When she had both in hand, she stood at the bottom of the staircase and with a deep breath, forced her voice into a semblance of normalcy.

"Tempy?"

"Yes?" The answer came from behind a bedroom's closed door.

"I have to go out for a minute. I . . ." Her throat closed, making speech impossible for several seconds. "I love you," she managed finally.

"Okay. Love you, too."

She gripped the keys in her hand hard enough to crack the simple plastic fob that dangled from the metal ring. After one last look around the pretty little house, she walked out, leaving the front door unlocked.

Ten minutes later, she pulled into the parking lot next to the small pond. Max was already there, standing on the bank, staring at the water. When he turned to face her, she was shocked to see tears streaming down his face.

Her heart sank.

When she approached, he pulled her into his arms and for a few minutes, they simply held each other. Suddenly, he pushed away from her and ran to the back of her car.

"Damn it!"

Without answering her sputtered demands for an explanation, Max held out his hand for her keys, opened the trunk and pulled out the tire jack. While she watched, he knelt on the rough pavement and scraped away all traces of the school's name from the bumper sticker that proclaimed their daughter's brilliance as a student.

"Matthew, what –"

The words faded away when he removed the license plate and replaced it with the one from the vehicle he'd stolen earlier.

She watched it all in disbelief.

"No, not now," she whispered. "Not now. Please, not now."

"They found us. McVicar is here." He slammed the trunk shut. "Get in the car."

The doors were barely closed before he pealed roughly out of the parking lot. To her surprise, instead of heading back to their little house, he drove toward town.

"What are you doing?" she asked in confusion.

"I'm trying to find the son of a bitch who saw me. He has to see us leave. He has to follow us."

His eyes flickered in a continuing circuit from the road in front of him to the side streets they passed to the rear view mirror.

"What?" Christine stared at him in shock. "Why do we want him following us? We should go home and . . ."

Her eyes opened wide in horror when she realized what he was doing.

"We're leaving the kids? We're just going to leave them?" Her voice rose hysterically. "No! We can't do that! Tempy's only 15!" She broke down, sobbing. "We can't just leave them alone! Why can't we take them with us again?"

"Ruth!"

The use of the name she hadn't heard in thirteen years ripped away her last, faint hope that this was all something . . . else. A test. A joke. Anything other than the destruction of the life and home and family they'd managed to build together.

"Ruth, if they catch us, they'll kill us." His jaw was hard, his tone implacable as he forced the truth on her. "The only way to save the kids is to leave, to lead these guys away. We'll come back!" Max reached for her shaking hand and squeezed. "She'll be fine. Russ is 19, he'll take care of her. You know he will. And as soon as it's safe, we'll come back. I promise. I promise. We'll come back."

She didn't believe him.

"How do you know they'll be okay? How do you know McVicar won't . . . what if he gets to them? What if he finds them and hurts them? We have to protect them!"

Max shook his head. "They want us, not the kids. It was just bad luck that he saw me today. If the bastards knew more about us, if they knew where we were, we'd already be dead. This way, we lead them away, we get in the clear again and then we come back. When it's safe."

A glance in the mirror brought a look of malevolent satisfaction to his face.

"There you are, you bastard. Now let's see if you can keep up."

With a squeal of tires, he hit the accelerator and sped down the road to the interstate ramp.

Beside him, Ruth sobbed, fist in her mouth, her face turned to the window. Each mile that passed beneath the wheels was another hole from which her heart bled out.

"How did they find us?" she whispered raggedly.

"I don't know," came the grim answer. "But I'm going to find out."

**.**

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_**To be continued . . . .**_


	2. Chapter 2

It had been hours since he'd seen headlights when Max finally turned onto a barely visible dirt track. Even so, once he'd driven a few yards he pulled into a patch of rough grass, turned off the lights and sat in the dark, eyes glued to the two-lane road behind him.

Thirty minutes passed.

Nothing.

Satisfied, he started the car again. The narrow, dusty drive ended at a large clearing that comprised most of the front yard for a two-story, wood-framed white farmhouse. As he rolled to a stop, a dog barked once. Keeping a cautious eye on the curtained windows staring down at him, Max carefully opened his door, got out and stood quietly with both hands up, palms facing out.

It seemed a lot longer than the ten minutes or so it actually took before he saw movement in the house. The front door swung open slowly, accompanied by the sound of rusty hinges. The hulking outline of a man appeared, his face and features hidden in the shadows.

"It's 3:00 o'clock in the goddamn morning, Keenan. You lookin' to get shot?"

Max smiled as a wave of relief eased the tension in his shoulders.

"Nice to see you, too, Bird."

"Huh." The response came on a snort. "You alone?"

"Ruth's with me."

"Kids?"

"They're . . . somewhere else."

There was a beat of silence.

"Guess you better get in here then, before one of the boys gets a twitchy finger."

Max nodded. "Ruth fell asleep a few miles back. I'm just going to open my door and make sure she's up."

He followed up the words with slow, deliberate movements as he reached for the handle, not knowing and even less interested in finding out how many guns might be trained on him from the barns and outbuildings surrounding the house.

Ruth was already awake, her eyes red and swollen from the tears she'd continued to shed. She got carefully out of the car, too, and remained still until Max came around the front of the car and held out his hand for her. Together, they crossed the dirt-packed yard.

"Minnie!" Bird yelled over his shoulder without taking his eyes off Max and Ruth. "Get your ass down here!"

Almost immediately, the sounds of someone thumping down the stairs reached the couple standing in front of the house.

"Stop your yelling, I can hear just fine. Been awake since you started all this racket."

The large shadow that appeared behind Bird stepped into what little light filtered down from the moon and became a woman with tight grey curls and a friendly, open face. Her mouth dropped open in surprise.

"Well, I'll be . . . Ruth, honey, you look like you've been drug backwards through a split-rail fence. What's wrong?"

Ruth dropped her face into the palms of her hands and sobbed.

Minnie was at her side immediately, wrapping the distraught woman in a soft hug as she pulled her up the stairs.

A dog lying in the middle of the top step impeded their progress. "Get outta my way," she grumped, as she nudged it with a slippered foot. "Come on in, honey, and tell me what's got you all worked up."

The two men watched as the women disappeared into the depths of the dark house. When they were gone, Bird crossed his arms and glared at Max.

Deliberately nonchalant, Max grinned and gestured to the dog.

"Good to see Tick again."

Bird snorted for the second time.

"Hell, boy, Tick's been dead almost as long as we thought you were." A resigned sigh lifted the man's heavy shoulders. "I guess you better get in here and tell me what kind of goddamn bullshit you're gonna get me into now."


	3. Chapter 3

The two men sat together at a kitchen table scarred by years of daily use, cups of coffee steaming in front of them.

"Damn, boy," Bird shook his head. "You sure did get yourself in a pickle, didn't you?" His eyes were sharp. "What do you got on these people anyway? And don't tell me nothing, because they wouldn't be huntin' you for nothing."

Max returned Bird's stare silently.

After a moment's pause, the old man nodded.

"Yea, well, it's probably best I don't know." He shook his grizzled head again. "I warned you, didn't I? When you hooked up with 'em? I told you they were bad news. I told you you'd be sorry. Never would listen to anybody, though, would you? Always thought you knew better your own damn self."

Max's shoulder slumped in defeat.

"I wanted out of the life, Bird," he explained. "Kyle was getting old enough to figure out what we were doing and it was time. I thought if we could get just a couple of big scores, we could get out. You know, live like normal people. That gang was raking in cash so . . ." His jaw clenched as he stared into the depths of his coffee. "I just wanted to make a little extra money."

Bird cut to the chase. "So what do you need from me?"

"Papers. A place to stay for a few days."

"Money?"

"No," Max shook his head. "We have enough stashed. We just have to disappear for a while."

"Hard thing, taking a woman away from her babies." Bird caught his lower lip between his index finger and thumb and stared intently across the table.

Max looked up, his expression bleak. "I told Ruth we'd go back."

Bird sat back in his chair with a sigh.

"You lied, boy." He crossed his arms over his chest and pushed his chair up on its back legs. "One of two things just happened. First is, they never stopped looking for you and finally found you and if that's the case, they ain't gonna stop now 'til they find you again. Second possibility is they did stop looking for you and just got lucky today. If that's the case and they done found you once by accident, they'll put some muscle behind it now. Either way, they ain't gonna stop looking for you again." His chair dropped back to the floor with a thump. "You wanna keep those kids alive, you can't go back. Sooner you and Ruth make your peace with that, better off you'll be."

"Max?"

Ruth spoke from the shadows of an archway leading deeper into the house. She stared accusingly at her husband.

"You promised we'd go back. You promised!" Her words ended in a shout.

Pain and regret etched new lines into his face. Max stood and turned to face her. "Ruth . . ."

"You promised!" She flew at him, sobbing, punctuating her words with blows from bunched fists. "You son of a bitch, you promised! This is your fault! It's all your fault! It was your idea!" She struck hard against his chest and arms. "That gang was your idea! You made this happen! It's your fault! It's your fault!"

He allowed her to hit him without raising a hand to defend himself, accepting the abuse as his rightful punishment, until her fury became grief and she sagged into his arms.

"I'm sorry, Ruth. I'm so sorry." He rubbed her back and blinked away his own tears. "I'm so sorry."

"We have to go back, Max." The broken whisper was muffled against his chest. "We have to. She's only 15. You know what she's like . . . She's different, we can't just leave Tem -"

He interrupted her with a note of warning in his voice. "_Joy_ will be fine," he said, carefully emphasizing the name they'd chosen for their daughter at her birth. "Kyle is with her. Kyle will take care of her."

Behind them, Bird nodded.

"If your boy is with her, Joy will be okay," he agreed. A smile crossed the weathered old face. "Did you say she's 15 now?" Ruth's nod was barely noticeable. "Never forget her sitting on my lap, reading the newspaper, and not even two years old. Read better than me, truth be told." He gave a bark of laughter. "She still that smart?"

"She's brilliant." Max looked at Ruth as he answered, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Well, then, you just take some comfort from that. If you want to keep her alive, that's about all you can do."

Bird stood up and pushed his chair beneath the table. The sound of the legs scraping against the hardwood floor was almost violent in the otherwise quiet house.

"You can sleep here tonight," he told them. "Tomorrow the boys will take you to the safe house and you can stay there while I work on your papers. Shouldn't take more than a couple of days." He gave Max a rough pat on the shoulder and nodded toward the steps in the corner of the room as he walked out. "Spare room is up there. Try and get some rest."

When they were alone, Ruth laid her head against Max's shoulder and let the tears flow again.

"I'm sorry, Ruth."

The insignificant words were all he had.

"I'm so sorry."


	4. Chapter 4

"I've told you everything I know."

Temperance's voice was pitched so low, the two police officers had to lean forward to make out her words as she continued speaking.

"I got home from school at the same time I always do. My mother was hanging decorations and making dinner. I went upstairs to do my homework." She took a deep, shaky breath and focused on the hands gripped tightly in her lap. "The phone rang. She told me she was going out. I heard the car leave. I just thought . . ." She swallowed. "I thought she was going shopping. When I finished my homework, I came downstairs and she was still gone." Her shoulders began to shake. "She didn't come home. And my father didn't come home." Her downcast eyes slid in the direction of where Russ sat. "My brother didn't come home either."

Officer Williams looked at Russ. "And you were with . . . "

"Denise Miller." He answered with a grimace as he watched his sister. "Tempy . . ." He reached toward her but stopped when she flinched away.

"We've spoken with Miss Miller." The officer smirked knowingly. "She confirmed your whereabouts."

Angry and insulted, Russ glared back at Williams.

"We've located your father's car," interjected Officer Tate. The eyes of both Temperance and Russ jerked in his direction as Tate named a small town just outside the city limits of Chicago. "It was locked. There were no signs of anything unusual. We haven't yet found your mother's car."

The two policemen exchanged a glance, then stood up.

"If you remember anything else, any detail, no matter how small, give one of us a call." Tate's sympathetic voice was quiet. "We'll be back in touch as soon as we have new information."

Russ saw them to the door and stood watching as the black and white marked police car backed out of the driveway. When it was gone he turned back to Temperance. Guilt sat heavily on his shoulders when he saw her slight body rocking back and forth.

"Tempy." He spoke softly as he took a seat beside her. "I didn't know. You believe me, right? I would have been here if I'd known Mom and Dad had . . . I would never leave you alone, I swear."

Jaw clenched, she stared in the opposite direction and refused to answer or look directly at him.

Russ reached for her clenched hands, taking small comfort from the fact that she allowed him to touch her.

"Tempy . . ."

Her red-rimmed eyes stood out bleakly in her pale, drawn face when she turned to face him at last.

"Where are they, Russ? Where are they?"

He hugged her close, blinking back his own tears when she laid her head on his shoulder and sobbed.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I don't know. But the police will find them. They'll find out what happened."

They sat there quietly, unmoving, long after her tears dried and the light in the room had disappeared with the cold winter sunshine. Finally, Russ took a deep breath.

"We should eat. Come on."

She followed him into the kitchen, past the cheerful holiday decorations they both ignored. Russ unceremoniously pushed her into a chair at the table and then busied himself making sandwiches neither of them really wanted. Temperance forced down a few bites and managed to drink half of the glass of milk he poured for her before she shoved the plate away. Knowing she'd reject his admonitions to finish the sandwich, Russ instead quietly cleared the uneaten food away.

A freshly made cherry pie sitting on a cooling rack next to the stove caught his attention. He looked back at his sister.

"Looks like Mom was baking before . . ."

She nodded without speaking.

"I love her cherry pie. Do you want me to cut you a . . ."

Suddenly, Temperance erupted from the chair. With a primal scream dragged from the depths of her pain and fear, she reached for the pan and hurled it across the room. It hit the wall with a clatter and splattered in a colorful mess of cherries, pie filling and crust. For one frozen minute, she stood there, breathing in heavy pants, staring at the sticky mess. Then she burst into tears and ran from the room. Heavy, stomping footsteps marked her passage upstairs.

Shocked by the abrupt violence of her actions, Russ stood paralyzed. By the time he reacted, it was too late. Her door slammed with enough force to set the tinsel on the brightly decorated Christmas tree swaying.

Shoulders slumped, he began to clean up the gooey mess oozing down the wall.


	5. Chapter 5

Even after the stress of the previous 24 hours, neither Ruth nor Max slept that night in any sense other than a momentary loss of consciousness followed immediately by abrupt wakefulness. Tense and on edge, they stayed in the small room above the kitchen until the sounds of the morning reassured them that others were finally about.

Minnie hovered solicitously, pressing them with full plates of food that went untouched and refilling their coffee after every sip.

Bird ate his breakfast in silence. When he was done, he sipped the last of his coffee and looked at Max over the rim of the cup.

"Boys'll be ready to take you to the safe house about noon. I'll have your papers by tomorrow morning."

Max nodded. "I have to go into Rankin, so that gives me time to get there and back."

The old man looked at him with narrowed eyes.

"Do you think that's smart? You should probably stay here, out of sight."

"Can't." Max shook his head. "There's something I have to do before we leave again."

Bird smacked his lips against his teeth, clearly unhappy. Finally, he shrugged.

"I guess it's your funeral."

As the couple prepared to leave a short while later, Bird stopped Max with a hard grip on the other man's shoulder. With his other hand, he offered a 9mm.

Max hesitated.

"Take it. Best be prepared, just in case."

Jaw tight, Max accepted it with a nod. He tucked the weapon against his back, hidden beneath the heavy coat he wore.

In the car, neither he nor Ruth spoke. Max glanced toward the passenger seat repeatedly but she refused to meet his gaze, making a point instead of staring out the window at the dead, frozen winter fields outside. At an intersection marked with a right-pointing arrow and a sign that read "Rankin, 15 miles," Max turned left.

It was Ruth's turn to frown uncertainly.

"You told Bird we were going to Rankin. You don't trust him?"

"I trust him." He and Ruth locked eyes for a moment. "As much as I trust anyone right now."

No further words were exchanged until they reached a bank in Homestead, where they waited in a private room for a safety deposit box they'd hidden there a decade earlier. From it, Max retrieved a set of identification papers that not even Bird knew about. New IDs in hand, the couple crossed the street to a second bank and there executed a series of financial transactions that transferred a large sum of money into accounts opened under their new names.

Errands done, they were returning to the car when a man stepped out of an alley between two office buildings and blocked their path.

"Keenan." The snarl in McVicar's voice matched the one on his face.

Max and Ruth immediately spun away only to be halted again by the presence of a second man looming behind them.

McVicar pushed aside his coat to reveal the rusted barrel of his favorite weapon. The threat was clear even before he spoke.

"Let's take a ride."

With no other obvious choice, they led the two men to their car. Following his captor's terse order, Max opened the back door and slid in next to the still silent second man. The feel of metal at his back reminded him of the gun Bird had given him that morning.

McVicar forced Ruth into the front seat, then got behind the wheel and glared at Max through the rear-view mirror.

"You know what I want, Keenan," he said. "You can get out of here a free man if you just give me what you have."

Ruth's bitter laughter filled the car as she glared her hatred at the man beside her. "You'll never let us go."

McVicar faked shock. "Ruth! You don't trust me. I'm hurt." The smile he gave her was pure evil.

The drive continued in silence as McVicar took them down a winding country road that trailed off into the shadows of a stand of trees. He stopped the car just short of the small forest and angled his body to glare at Max as he placed the muzzle of the bolt stunner directly on Ruth's temple.

"You've got a choice, Keenan. Give me what I want or I'll cover you in your wife's brains."

As Max stared into the cold, flat blue eyes, the helpless terror he'd felt since first seeing McVicar's reflection in the music store window burned away, replaced by a red tide of implacable fury. His breathing slowed as silence roared in his ears. When the man beside him began to shift, Max acted immediately.

In one swift series of moves, he reached with his right hand for the gun at his back and at the same time, thrust his left elbow into the throat of the man beside him. Bone crunched as the man's larynx fractured. As if time had suddenly come to a frozen stop, he watched McVicar's eyes narrow with threatening intent.

Fear lanced through him.

"Ruth!"

Trapped by the seat belt, she tried to twist away at his shouted warning but it was too little, too late. McVicar pulled the trigger.

Max heard his wife scream, saw blood rushing through her fingers as she grabbed for her head, heard the man next to him gasping for air as he clawed at his throat. In a flash, he had the gun in his hand aimed at a spot between McVicar's eyes.

A bolt stunner was no match for a 9mm, and they both knew it. Max, however, wasn't taking any chances.

"Toss it back here," he ground out.

The weapon landed at his feet.

"Ruth?"

She nodded, whimpering in pain as she rocked back and forth and tried to staunch the flow of blood through her fingers.

With the gun still trained on McVicar, Max reached across the gasping man next to him, opened the door and shoved him out. With an expression devoid of emotion, Max slid out next then jerked open the driver's door and dragged McVicar into the dirt. The thuggish face twisted as he knelt there, staring up at Max.

"You're dead, Keenan. I will hunt you down and kill you, I promise you that. And your kids." A cruel smile touched his lips. "I'll take Owens with me, let him have some fun first." His head jerked in the direction of the man gasping beside the car. "How old is Joy now? He likes 'em young."

Without hesitation, Max pointed his gun at Owens and fired.

"Now he doesn't."

McVicar blinked in shock.

Max stepped closer and pulled his head back, forcing the still warm barrel of the gun into his enemy's mouth.

"You think I won't protect my family, Vince? The only thing keeping you alive right now is that you're going to go back and give your friends a message for me."

McVicar gagged as Max pushed the barrel deeper.

"Leave us alone. I've kept quiet for thirteen years, and as long as my family is safe, it will stay that way. If I see one of you, even by accident, the game is over. If I hear you've tried to find my kids, I'll find all of you, one by one, starting with you." Max tugged hard on the thinning hair. "There is no hell so deep I won't find you," he whispered with a menacing hiss. "Do we understand each other?"

McVicar's teeth rattled against the gun in his mouth when he nodded.

"Good." Max pulled the gun away, stepped back and swung it at McVicar's head. The scalp split beneath the blow, splattering blood over the coat Max wore. He didn't notice and didn't care. Instead, he wrapped a fist in McVicar's jacket, hauled him up to his knees and hit him again. The hired killer, knocked out cold, dropped to the winter-hardened ground.

Ignoring the dead body of Owens, Max slid into the driver's seat beside Ruth. She was slumped against the door, unconscious. He tilted her head slightly to get a better look at the wound. There was a bare, white line of scalp showing through her blood-soaked hair.

"I'm going to get you to Minnie," he promised frantically. "Everything's going to be fine. You'll be fine. I promise."

Suddenly remembering the bolt stunner, Max stretched behind him and reached for it, unconsciously smearing McVicar's blood against the seat. He laid the primitive weapon in the empty space beside him, started the engine and turned the car back down the lane.

Back at Bird's, Max threw caution to the wind and raced down the dirt track. Brakes squealed as he pulled to a stop; he was out and around the car to Ruth's side in seconds, racing toward the house with her limp form hoisted high in his arms. Bird met him on the front porch and with a sweeping gesture of one hand, silently ordered men Max never saw to lower the weapons he could feel trained on him.

Minnie, standing just inside the door, gasped at the sight of Ruth covered in blood.

"I think she was just grazed," Max panted, as he brushed past her on his way to the living room. Once there, he laid his wife gently on the couch.

Minnie shoved him aside.

"Get out of the way! Let me look at her!"

Max stood watching as Minnie prodded and cleaned, until Bird got his attention with a touch on his arm. He followed the older man into the kitchen.

"McVicar." He replayed the events of the morning in terse, clipped tones.

Bird stared at him with narrowed eyes.

"Was he alone?"

"He is now." He offered no further explanation.

"Where did you leave him?"

After listening to Max's description of the road, Bird walked quickly to the front door and spoke to a man who stood on the porch, just out of sight. Loud, heavy boots clomped away.

"The boys are going out there to clean up," he said, when he returned to Max. "Won't be the first time we've buried somebody no one'll ever miss."

Just then, Minnie called from the next room and Max rushed to her side.

Ruth was awake and groggy, propped up on the sofa with the aid of pillows.

"She should be fine," Minnie said softly. "She lost a chunk of hair but it looks like that old stunner just slid right along the side of her head. "

Max sat down next to his wife and pulled her into his arms. He was still sitting there, gently rocking to and fro, when the screen door opened again. The low murmur of voices reached him before Bird spoke up again.

"Your car needs to be got rid of. The whole front seat is covered in blood."

"The keys are still in it."

Snatches of the instructions Bird gave to his men reached Max and Ruth.

". . . run it out of gas . . . Jersey, if you can make it . . ."

The screen door slammed. A car pulled away.

And then all was quiet.


	6. Chapter 6

The whispers followed her everywhere during that last week of school before the holiday break. She kept her head down more than usual as she walked through the halls between classes, trying to ignore the muttering and the curious looks from her classmates and teachers.

" _. . . parents disappeared . . ."_

" _. . . . . dead, probably . . ."_

" _. . . been two weeks . . ."_

As the days wore on, the voices became louder and the tone of the whispers darker and less sympathetic. The other students stopped trying to hide their opinions from her.

" _. . . she probably killed 'em . . ."_

" _. . . heard she and that creepy janitor cut them up and buried them . . ."_

"_. . . bet they ran away on purpose . . ."_

" . . . s_he's so weird . . ."_

Tempy survived the never-ending week by focusing intently on the upcoming exams, using every minute she wasn't in class to study material that she already knew by heart. If her classmates hoped she would break down in front of them, they were disappointed.

Her brittle composure cracked only once, when Mr. Buxley stopped her between classes with a soft touch on her hand. Seeing the tears that immediately threatened to overflow, he quickly drew her into the small janitor's office and awkwardly patted her shoulder as she sat hunched over, sobbing. Unable to find the right words, he was just quietly there, offering her the simple comforting balm of his unassuming presence.

If school was bad, being home was in some respects worse.

Russ watched her move wraith-like through the empty rooms, barely eating and speaking even less. He chaffed at the sense of helplessness that filled him when he came upon her sitting on the bed in their parents' room, crying silently. Even worse, however, were the nights he woke to the sound of her weeping in the darkness, when he could only lie there helpless as fear and anger and frustration washed over him.

He tried to help. He forced her to eat. He forced her to go to school each day when she would have shut herself in her room. He forced her to look at him, to listen as he attempted over and over again to reassure her.

He tried, Russ told himself. He tried to reach her and found each attempt rebuffed as she withdrew further behind the walls that grew higher as each day ended without news of their parents. She didn't yell or scream or curse. She just . . . wasn't there.

.

.

Christmas morning dawned under a cold, vivid blue sky. Temperance woke slowly, with a familiar heaviness behind her eyes that testified of her restless sleep. The faint hint of music drifting through her closed door knitted her eyebrows together.

_Christmas carols?_

Suddenly, she sat up and threw off the heavy quilt.

"Mom!" She raced down the stairs, grabbing for the banister when her sock-clad feet slipped. "Dad!"

She ran into the living room as hope lifted her heart for the first time in weeks.

Russ knelt by the tree busily arranging a few small packages. He looked up when she rushed in, greeting her with a tentative smile.

"I found some things Mom and Dad left . . ." He swallowed and gestured to the brightly wrapped gifts. "They were in the garage. It looks like Mom managed to get a little shopping done before . . ."

Temperance swayed on her feet, her face pale and bloodless as the truth sank in.

Alarmed, Russ was by her side instantly. "Tempy . . ."

She jerked away from his helping hands.

"Don't touch me!" Her heartbreak turned to fury. "Do you think you can make Christmas? Do you think I want Christmas with you?" Her voice rose hysterically; she began to shake as tears fell. "You're not Dad! You're nothing!" She picked up one of the brightly wrapped presents and threw it at him. "Nothing! I don't want your presents!"

Russ dodged the small box, his hand held out in supplication as he tried to explain.

"Tempy, I wasn't trying to . . ."

"Stop treating me like a baby! Mom and Dad are gone! They're dead and you . . ." Her eyes blazed hot. "Why are you still here? Why are you here and they're not? Why wasn't it you?"

Russ ignored the cutting barb. "Tempy, I'll take care of you, I'll . . ."

Mania edged her shrill, brittle laughter.

"You can't take care of me! You can't even take care of yourself!" The look she gave him was full of loathing. "Mom and Dad would never have left me alone with you! They don't trust you! I don't need you anyway! I can take care of myself!"

Anger flared despite his knowledge of her pain.

"No, you don't need anybody, do you?" Russ sneered. "You don't care about anyone else either, so why don't you go back upstairs and stick your nose in a book? It's not like you care what's going on anyway!" Appalled, he heard the words coming out of his mouth but couldn't hold them back. "What are your books telling you now, Tempy? What do all those books say about kids whose parents run off and leave them?"

Silence fell, marked only by their equally harsh breathing until, horrified and apologetic, Russ reached out again.

"Tempy, I didn't mean that. You know I didn't. . ."

She backed away from him, tears swimming.

"I hate you," she whispered bitterly. "I wish you were gone, too. I'd be better off without you."

She turned and raced back up the stairs to her room. The door slammed behind her.

The merry lights from the Christmas tree twinkled in a playful dance as Russ stood at the bottom of the steps, hoping his sister would reappear again. When several long minutes passed with no evidence of movement above, he hung his head in defeat.

Temperance was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling through dry, gritty eyes, when a car's engine roared to life outside. She flinched at the sound but stayed where she was as the hours stretched out until finally, hunger forced her downstairs again.

The house was quiet and empty. She heated a can of soup and collapsed into a chair at the table while she tried to force it down. When she couldn't manage another spoonful, she pushed the bowl away but stayed there, hands resting limp in her lap, and stared at nothing.

The sun slowly made its way across the winter sky until it disappeared into the western horizon, leaving the kitchen dark.

Temperance Brennan laid her crossed arms on the table in front of her, put her head down and cried.

.

.

.

Eleven days later, suitcase in hand, she stood in front of a weathered wooden door almost completely stripped of paint, accompanied by a harried, overworked social worker wearing a suit ten years out-of-date. When it opened, the social worker urged Temperance across the threshold. The house smelled of old grease and the cigarette dangling from the mouth of the grimy woman standing in front of them.

"Temperance, this is Mrs. Forrester. You'll be staying with her for the next few weeks until we find something more permanent."

Speaking around her cigarette, Mrs. Forrester led them down a narrow hallway to a thin, stained door that when opened, revealed a rickety staircase lit by a bare light bulb sticking out of a socket in the wall.

"You got your own bed in the basement. It gets a little damp down there but there's a humidifier if you want it. It mostly works."

"You mean a dehumidifier." Temperance corrected the blowsy woman automatically. "A dehumidifier removes moisture from the air."

Mrs. Forrester stared at her, then with a rough hand on her shoulder, pushed her toward the stairs. "That's what I said, Miss Smartypants," she sneered. "A dehumidifier. Now go on and make yourself at home while I talk to the social worker."

The door closed with a thud, forcing Temperance to take two quick steps down to avoid falling. She hesitated for a moment, looking back as she tried to distinguish words from the murmured voices on the other side. Finally, she gave up.

With a carefully blank expression devoid of all emotion, she picked her way to the thin metal cot that was her new bedroom.


	7. Chapter 7

_Seven months later . . ._

_._

_._

Max found her sitting on the porch swing, pushing it slowly with one foot as she stared off into the trees. He deliberately let the door slam shut but Ruth gave no sign to indicate she'd heard the noise or even knew he was there. Shoulders hunched, he took a deep, silent breath and sat down beside her.

Several minutes passed before she spoke.

"Today is her birthday. She's 16."

"I know."

"I wonder if she's celebrating." Her voice was rough with unshed tears. "Do you think Russ knows that he has to make this special for her? Sixteen is important to a girl . . ."

"Russ was 16 once himself," Max reassured her. "He knew a lot of 16-year-old girls. He'll make it nice for her."

"Yes." Ruth glanced at him briefly before her head swiveled back toward the trees. "Yes, Russ will take care of her."

The moment stretched out as they continued to sit in silence in a swing that swayed slowly back and forth.

Suddenly, Ruth turned to her husband.

"I want to go into town, to the camera store," she blurted. "I want to rent a video camera and . . . I want to tell her happy birthday." Her face pleaded with him. "I have so much to tell her. She's only 16 . . . ." Great, shining tears threatened to overflow.

"Okay." Max nodded immediately. "That sounds like a great idea. We'll do that. Do you want to go now?"

"Yes," she answered, as if afraid he might change his mind. "Right now."

.

.

Forty-five minutes later, Max returned to the car with a rented video camera and a blank VHS tape.

"It's charged and ready to go," he smiled. "Just like you wanted."

Ruth squeezed his knee in thanks as he settled behind the wheel.

Max pulled out of the parking spot. "Where do you want to do this? In the living room? On the porch? As long as we don't show a house number or anything identifiable, we should be fine."

"No." Ruth shook her head. "I want to be outside, so she knows we're safe." She pointed to a park just past the next light. "There. That's where I want to go."

He found the entrance easily and quickly located an empty parking space. Video camera in hand, he followed her lead as she searched for just the right spot from which to record. Finally, she saw a large bent tree that offered a picturesque, shaded place to sit.

"Here," she decided, as she glanced over her shoulder at the people walking their dogs in an open grassy field. "This looks good, doesn't it?"

"It's perfect," Max agreed. "I'll just stand right here and . . ."

She interrupted him quickly. "No, I want to do this alone. I need to, Max. I just . . . I need to."

"Okay, sure." He kissed her forehead and gave in without argument. "Whatever you want." He pulled a large enclosed trash can close to the tree and set the video camera on top. After spending a few minutes adjusting the angle and focus to make sure Ruth would be in the shot, he stepped aside and gestured to a bench a few feet away. "I'll just wait over here, okay? Just wave when you're done."

Ruth nodded. "Do I look okay?" Suddenly nervous, she smoothed her hair and glanced down at the brown skirt and long, purple blouse cinched around her waist with a dolphin belt.

"You look beautiful," Max reassured her gently. "You always look beautiful." He gave her arm one last comforting squeeze and left her alone.

She smoothed her hair once more, turned the camera on and backed up until her knees hit the tree. Then she sat down and began to speak. Her voice was even but her wobbly smile betrayed the anxiety she felt.

_Hi, Temperance. It's Mom. I don't know when or if you'll ever see this. I hope to put it in your hands myself and see you again with my own eyes but this is a hard, hard world. _

She took a deep breath.

_Your __father __and__ I __left __you__ and __Russ __to __save__ your __lives__. __People__ would __have __killed __you __to __get to __us__. But that__'__s __not __what __this __is __about__. T__oday __is __your__ 16__th __birthday__. __I__'__m__ so __sorry __not __to __be __there __to __tell __you__ all __the __things __that __a __mother__ should __tell __her __daughter__ when__ she__ turns__ 16 . . . _

Her voice broke as she struggled to maintain control. When she was composed again, she held the ring she'd been given on her own 16th birthday up to the camera_. _

_A_n_d__ I'm sorry __not __to __give __you __this__. It__'__s __an__ heirloom __from __my__ side __of __the __family, a__nd __starting __today__, __it__'__s __yours__. __I __don__'__t __know__ how__ long __it __will __take __me__ to __get __it __to __you__, __but __I__ promise__ you __I __will__. _

_You__'__re __going __to __hear __a__ lot __of __things __about __your__ parents__, __especially __about __your __father__. __He__'__s __a __good __man__. __It __was __my __insistence__ to __leave__ you __kids__. __Max__ would__ have __kept __us__ together__, __fought __until __the __end__. I'm not sure he'll ever forgive me for that.  
><em>

Voice trembling, she blinked back the rush of hot moisture that filled her eyes.

_P__lease__, __Temperance__, __I __need __you __to __forgive __me__ and __if __you __can__'__t __forgive __me__, __I __beg __you, __honey__, __forgive __your __father__ because __he __is __a__ very __good __man__. And remember__ this - __you__ were __cherished __in __this __world__. __Adored__. __What __I__ did __to __you __may __have__ been __wrong __but __I __did __it __out __of __love__. __I __did __it __out __of__ love__. _

Ruth began to break down, unable now to stop the tears.

Max was there in an instant. He switched off the camera then sat down next to her, pulled her into his arms and tucked her head firmly against his shoulder as she cried. When she had nothing left, he looked into her face.

"Why did you tell her it was your fault, Ruth? You shouldn't have done that. We'll delete it and you can record it again."

"No," she shook her head sadly as she cupped his cheek in one hand. "She'll blame you, Max. I'm her mother, she'll forgive me before she will forgive you." Her eyes welled again. "One day, when she has children of her own, she'll understand why we did what we did but until then, it will be easier for her if she thinks it was my fault.

He argued further but it was no use. Ruth stubbornly refused to delete the video and record another, more truthful version. Finally, he gave in and they walked together back to the car.

As he put the key in the ignition, she stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"Promise me that one day, Temperance will get the tape and her ring," she begged softly. "Promise me that you'll make sure she gets them."

He nodded.

"I will, Ruth. I'll make sure she gets them. I promise."


	8. Chapter 8

_September, 1993 . . . ._

_._

_._

Ruth was massaging her temples again, eyes closed as her fingers rubbed small circles into the soft skin.

"Another headache?" Max took one hand off the steering wheel and patted her knee.

The grimace she gave him was answer enough.

"We'll get Minnie to look at you when we get to the farm." Max looked at his wife with concern. "Maybe she'll be able to help."

Ruth nodded. "I'm probably just tired. I'll take another pain reliever when we stop for gas."

Max gently patted her knee again, then reached out to turn the radio volume down a notch.

"Why don't you try to get some rest? I'll wake you when we stop."

She murmured her agreement and before the next song ended, had fallen asleep with her head leaning against the window.

Ruth was still sleeping when he pulled into a gas station an hour later and remained that way during the three hours it took before Max pulled to a stop in front of the white-framed house. When he jostled her carefully awake, she groggily opened her door, stepped out of the car and then immediately collapsed to her knees.

"Ruth!" Frantic, Max ran to her side.

He knelt in the dirt and gravel of the driveway, his arms circling her where she balanced on all fours. After a few deep breaths, she straightened to her knees but when she turned to Max, her eyes were still strangely unfocused. She shook her head as he helped her to her feet.

"I'm okay. I was dizzy but . . ." She put a hand to her head. "It seems to have passed now."

Max kept one arm around her waist as he led her up the porch steps where Minnie waited. Bustling with solicitous worry, the older woman took over and guided Ruth into the house.

Max watched the door close behind them before he looked at Bird. "She's been getting headaches the last few months. Maybe while we're here, Minnie can look her over?"

"Yep," Bird nodded easily. "But there's only so much Minnie can do. We got a doctor in town we can use, if she thinks Ruth needs to see him. He don't ask too many questions as long as you pay cash."

.

.

.

Dinner that night was quiet. Ruth's headache subsided, taking with it the dizziness she had experienced. As usual, Minnie pressed them to eat too much but neither Max nor Ruth were able to do justice to the bounty of food she provided, Max because of lingering worry over Ruth and Ruth because the headache had left her feeling slightly nauseous.

They escaped to the room at the top of the stairs as soon as they could excuse themselves without appearing rude. Ruth soon fell into a fitful rest but Max was not so lucky. He watched as his wife shifted restlessly, murmuring their children's names and frowning in her sleep. It was a long time before he, too, dropped off.

He woke the next morning as the first sounds drifted up from the kitchen. A look at Ruth told him she continued to sleep soundly so he rose, dressed quietly and made his way downstairs. Bird sat in his usual place at the head of the scarred table, the morning paper spread out in front of him as heat rose in a cloud of steam from the cup at his elbow. He greeted Max with a jerk of his head toward the coffee pot on the counter but was otherwise silent, his attention focused on the newspaper. Max remained standing, sipped his coffee and stared out the window.

Several minutes passed before Bird folded the paper, stood up and carried his cup to the sink. After a quick glance at the still-empty stairs leading to the small bedroom above their heads, he patted Max roughly on the back.

"Let's take a walk."

The morning air was cool as the two men left the shelter of the house. Max shuddered, grateful for the long sleeves of his shirt as the cool wind of the September morning raised goosebumps on his exposed neck. A hundred yards beyond the back door, they stopped at a split rail fence that surrounded a lush paddock. Inside, three fat cows wandered in lazy contentment, munching on tufts of grass and paying no attention to the men outside their small enclosure.

Bird seemed to be considering his words carefully before he finally spoke. "Your new IDs are ready. You gonna keep changing them every couple of years?"

"Maybe." Max shrugged. "They can't find us if they don't know who we are."

"Hmmpf." Bird was quite a moment longer, then said abruptly, "McVicar's gone."

"Gone?" Max's head swiveled in the old man's direction. "Where? Is he dead?"

Bird leaned one elbow on a wooden post. "Don't think so. At least, not that I've heard. He went to the Feds, turned in that old gang of yours. The law's got him hid now."

Max frowned. "He went to the feds? Are you sure? That doesn't sound like McVicar."

"Yea, I'm sure." Bird spat into the ground just inside the paddock. "Heard his friends weren't happy when he came home without you, or without whatever it is you got." A brief, hard glance slanted in Max's direction. "Word is, that gang's got themselves some powerful friends who want to find you, too." He pulled a toothpick from the front pocket of his overalls and stuck it in his mouth. "You still got whatever it is you took from them?"

Max remained silent, and pointedly refused to meet the keen gaze trained on him.

Bird sucked at the toothpick, satisfied with the unspoken answer. "Best keep it safe, then. Whatever it is, seems like having it is what's keeping you alive right now."

Without speaking, Max put one foot on the bottom rail of the fence and studied the cows. His face was closed and hard.

Bird spent a few minutes cleaning his teeth with the toothpick before he continued.

"Sent a couple of the boys to check on your kids like you asked. Temperance, you said Joy was called now. And Kyle is Russ."

Finally, Max's head swiveled around.

"And?"

"And . . . they're gone, too." This time it was Bird who wouldn't meet Max's eyes. "Neighbor said your house was auctioned off a year ago, but the kids were gone before then."

"What do you mean, gone?" Max pulled his foot from the rail of the fence and faced Bird. "What does that mean? Where did they go?"

"State came in and took Joy right after you left. Temperance, I mean," he amended quietly. "Put her in a foster home somewhere."

"Oh, God." Max went white. "Were you able to find her?"

Bird shook his head. "The boys did some checking. They tracked her to three places in the first few months but after that, there was nothing." He gave Max a pitying look. "It happens sometimes. Kids get lost in the system."

Max put his elbows on top of a fence post and leaned forward, his face lost beneath trembling fingers. His voice was muffled as he spoke from behind his hands. "What about Russ?"

"Oh, we found the boy."

A note in Bird's tone alerted Max to more bad news. His hands fell away from his face. "Where?"

"California. In jail."

Max straightened and pushed away from the fence, backed up a few steps and stared straight into the sky. "Why? What did he do?"

"Stole a car." Bird chewed on his toothpick some more. "It was his first one, or at least the first time he got caught. He only got three years but he's kept his nose clean and he'll be out in a couple a'months."

Despair hung over Max's slumping shoulders. "Did you get to talk to him?"

"We got a message to him," Bird answered cryptically. "Didn't hear anything back."

Max shook his head, crossed his arms over his chest and stared up at the clouds again as he considered the unwelcome revelations. After a few silent minutes, he spoke again.

"Don't say anything to Ruth. I . . . I have to figure out how to tell her. The only thing keeping her sane right now is that she thinks Russ and Tempy are together, that Russ is taking care of her. This will kill her."

"Yea," Bird sighed. "She'll take this hard." He slapped Max on the back again. "Sorry. Wish I had better news for you." He took several steps toward the house before he realized he was alone and turned back. "You coming?" he asked.

Max shook his head. "I need a few minutes."

Bird nodded and wandered slowly away.

Alone, Max leaned again on the fence post and stared out at a pastoral view he didn't really see. _Kids __get__ lost __in __the __system_, he heard Bird say again. _Russ is __in __jail__. Tempy's lost . . . _

His head bowed beneath the weight of regret as he spoke out loud to the bovine audience.

"What have I done?"

One cow with a hide the color of baked mud looked up briefly then went back to her meal of grass.

.

.

When he finally made his way back to the house, everyone was awake and gathered in the large kitchen. Ruth's appetite seemed to have improved from the evening before; she was reaching for another spoon of Minnie's scrambled eggs when Max entered the room. He waved Minnie to her seat and poured himself another cup of coffee before pulling out a chair beside Ruth. Unable to face eating, he shook his head when a plate was offered.

"I think Ruth should see Dr. Armstrong," Minnie said when Max was settled. "She says those headaches have been coming more often the last few months and my old country nursing skills are just no good with things like that."

"I feel better this morning," Ruth replied. "But I'd be happier if I saw a doctor, too, just to be safe."

Max looked at Bird and Minnie. "When can we get her in to see him?"

"I already called his office this morning." Without asking, Minnie topped off his coffee. "He's out of town until Monday, so I got Ruth an appointment then. It's already Thursday so it's not that long of a wait. You can stay that long, can't you?"

Max and Ruth shared a look and then both nodded in agreement. They had nothing but time.

The rest of the day moved slowly. Ruth passed most of the afternoon sitting in a rocker on the front porch, sometimes reading from a book Minnie provided and more often napping. Max spent the day with Bird in what the other man referred to as his 'workshop,' a sub-basement area two floors below the main level of the house where he prepared the false identification papers that were his main source of income.

Watching Bird at work was a study in contrasts, the differences glaring between what was visible to the outside and what was hidden beneath the facade. Bird himself was one of the greatest surprises. A big, grizzled bear of a man, the old denim overalls he wore daily seemed much more suited to the sturdy old farmhouse and outbuildings than the hi-tech workshop humming with electronics and computers and printing equipment. Although the two men had known each other for decades, it wasn't the first time that Max watched him work and wondered what else he didn't know about his old friend.

Around 4:00 pm, the smell of banana bread drove them upstairs. Ruth and Minnie were in the kitchen, sitting at the table with glasses of ice tea and slices of warm bread. Determined to push away the fear and turmoil that had tortured his thoughts all day, Max smiled his thanks at Minnie when, despite his protest that they could serve themselves, she popped out of her chair to get more plates. He smeared blackberry jam over the bread and opened the newspaper that still lay folded on the table.

As he skimmed the pages, a notice caught his attention. When he chuckled, Ruth looked up, a silent question in her eyes. He pointed to an advertisement.

"_The__ Fugitive_ is playing at the theatre tonight."

Ruth's wry expression mirrored his own amusement and an idea occurred to him.

"Let's go," he said suddenly. When she frowned, he clasped her hand. "I'm serious. We can go early, maybe find a pizza place and then see the movie. We haven't done anything like that since . . ."

His voice trailed away as they both remembered the last time they'd gone out for pizza and a movie. Back when they had been a family. Back when Tempy and Russ had argued playfully over how many mushrooms were on each slice and what movie was worth watching. Back when life had been normal, before old choices caught up and smashed their dream like so much glass.

Ruth gave in to the pleading in his eyes.

"Okay," she smiled. "Let's go to a movie."

.

.

.

A few hours later, Max grabbed her hand as they left the theatre amid a throng of other patrons, and smiled happily.

"See? I told you we'd have fun."

Ruth wrapped both of her arms around one of his as they approached the car.

"I have to admit, it was nice to see a happy ending."

When he opened her door, she pulled him into her arms and hugged him tight.

"I'm sorry, Max," she whispered. "I've been selfish. I know you miss the kids as much as I do. I know you're hurting, too." Her kiss was gentle on his lips. "But you were right. We had to leave. We did the right thing. Russ and Tempy are safe and that's what matters. They're alive and together and they're okay. We have to remember that. I have to remember that."

Waves of guilt washed over him as Max closed his eyes and drew her close again. Soon he would have to tell her the truth, he would have to put her worst nightmare into words. For the moment, he kept his eyes closed and said nothing.

In the car, Ruth let her head fall back against the seat as Max headed back to the farm. He kept the radio low and let her doze as the miles slipped away until he pulled to a stop at the end of the dirt driveway. Once there, he reached over and nudged her gently.

"Ruth, honey, we're here."

At first, he felt no alarm when her head slipped toward him. When her whole body slumped forward, held in place only by the seat belt across her chest, dread closed like a fist in his gut.

"Ruth!"

He shook her roughly and fought back panic when her head only flopped loosely.

"RUTH!"

Max heard himself screaming her name as if stood outside his own body, watching the scene. He pressed his fingers against the spot in her neck where her pulse should beat and felt nothing.

"No. No. No." The word was an endless refrain, a never-ending prayer.

He fumbled with the latch of the seat belt, then slipped his hand through the buttons of her shirt and pressed against her heart. Where there should have been the reassuring, steady thud, there was only silence. Awful, empty silence.

"No no no no no no no." Tears began to flow. "No. Ruth, no. Ruth!" He pulled her limp form across the seat into his lap and buried his face in her hair. "Ruth," he whispered brokenly. "Ruth."

Suddenly the passenger door opened and Bird was there. He took in the situation with a glance, slammed it shut and in the next minute, wrenched open Max's door.

"I can't get her to wake up," Max choked out. "She fell asleep on the way home and I can't get her to wake up!" His tears fell harder. "I can't get her to wake up."

Bird pulled Ruth from Max's arms, cradling her gently as he stood.

"Let's get her in the house. Come on."

Max followed by instinct, his footsteps stumbling and clumsy as he climbed the few stairs up the porch. Fear and desperation clawed through every shuddering breath.

Bird laid Ruth gently on the sofa, then stepped back to allow Minnie in close. Max stood in the doorway and watched as she pulled a stethoscope out of a battered old medical bag and placed it against Ruth's chest and neck. Finally, she stood up.

"I'm sorry." Her eyes were wet as she looked at him. "She's gone, Max."

"Are you . . . " He couldn't form the words.

"She's not breathing. I can't hear a heartbeat. There's no pulse, there's no . . ." Minnie's voice broke and it was a minute before she could continue. "She's gone, Max."

Max clutched the frame of the door for support, turned his face into his hand and wept openly. Minnie was beside him immediately with a soft, comforting touch on his shoulder and murmurs of sorrow and regret until her own grief forced her to find a quiet place of her own to mourn. As she walked away, Bird patted Max on the back awkwardly and then followed her out.

For the last time, Max was alone with Ruth.

He walked stiffly to the sofa and fell down beside the woman he'd loved for almost thirty years. With his hands covering hers, he laid his head on her chest and cried with great, racking sobs that shook his body as his pain escaped in a keening wail of loss. Over and over, he whispered of his love and his regrets, making apologies followed by promises that she could no longer hear.

Time passed and still he knelt by her side, aware only vaguely of the sounds of life moving on around him. Voices spoke quietly in the kitchen. A door closed and a car drove away. He stayed there, his head lying above a heart that had stopped beating, until her body grew cold and Minnie's hands forced him to rise on frozen legs. Without a word, she led him to the kitchen, pushed him into a chair and curled his fingers around a mug of hot coffee.

Bird looked at him sadly, sympathy etched in the deep lines that webbed the aged face.

"I'm real sorry, Max. We thought a whole lot of Ruth. She was a good person."

Max nodded, seeing Ruth's face in the coffee he hadn't touched.

"I didn't get a chance to tell her . . ." He stopped and swallowed, then looked up at Bird through pain filled eyes. "I didn't tell her about the kids, about what you found out. I'm glad she didn't know that before she . . . before she . . ."

His shoulders began to shake. Minnie took the cup from his hand and placed it safely on the table, then knelt in front of him and wrapped him close to her generous bosom.

Bird waited a few minutes before he spoke again. "I know you're grieving, son, but there's things we have to do."

Max took a deep breath, wiped his eyes and stared up at the ceiling.

"Yea, I know," he whispered. "We have to b-bury her . . . I don't know how. I can't take her to a funeral home, they'll ask too many questions."

Bird patted his shoulder. "I'll take care of all that, if you want me to. I know a place."

Max recoiled, immediately thinking of the bodies of several old enemies that were buried in unmarked graves scattered over the acres that surrounded the farm house.

"No," he answered emphatically. "You're not putting Ruth out there with . . ."

Bird was already shaking his head. "No, of course not. I wouldn't disrespect your Ruth like that. There's a little cemetery a few miles away. It's old, nobody's used it for a long time but it's pretty spot. I sent a couple of the boys out to get a place ready for her." He paused. "I think Ruth would like it."

The thought of burying Ruth was too much for Max to handle. He covered his face and cried again.

"Okay. Okay."

Bird patted his shoulder roughly. "Alright then. We'll just wait til the boys get back and then we'll take her out there." He nodded at Minnie, who dropped a kiss on Max's head as she left. Max heard her moving around in the living room and knew she was preparing Ruth's body for burial.

While she did what was necessary, the two men sat in the kitchen without speaking until a car pulled up outside. Bird went to the front door, spoke quietly to someone from the porch and was back in a couple of minutes.

"We're ready," he said softly.

Max stumbled to his feet like a man who'd been on a three-day bender and took one leaden step toward the living room.

Bird stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"Don't do that to yourself, Max. Let the boys carry her for you."

Max could only nod and allow himself to be led to Bird's truck. Another vehicle followed them as Bird drove through the night following the faint traces of a road that would have been barely noticeable in bright sunlight. After only a short time, he pulled over on a bed of grass and gravel.

He, Minnie and Max made a solemn procession as they wound through a maze of old and weathered headstones to a freshly dug grave at the edge of the cemetery. Following behind them were two young men, one of whom held the linen wrapped body of Ruth Keenan in his arms.

The small group came to a stop beside the gaping hole. The unencumbered young man jumped down into the dark gash and reached for Ruth.

"Wait!"

Max couldn't let her go. He pulled aside the soft fabric until her face was visible and kissed her once more. Then he fumbled in his pockets and came up with a green-streaked marble.

"This belonged to Russ," he whispered. "I've carried it with me for years but she should have something from the kids with her. It's only right." He tucked the small ball beneath Ruth's hands and pressed his lips to her cold forehead in a final gesture of love and devotion. Tears streaming, he covered her again and stepped back.

Ruth's body was passed down into the grave and carefully laid in the rich, dark earth. Everyone was silent as the man inside climbed out, helped by his unspeaking companion. Then Minnie's voice rose in song.

_Amazing__ grace__, __how__ sweet __the__ sound__ . . . _

When the last words of the old hymn faded away, Bird put his arm around Max's shoulder and turned him back toward the truck.

"Come on. The boys will take care of her for you."

As they walked away, the sound of shovels sinking into dirt followed them into the night.

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.

Minnie and Bird left him alone for the next few days.

He ate when hunger forced him to but otherwise, Max stayed in the room at the top of the stairs and mourned. Memories swirled around him: Ruth's pretty smile on the day they met became the cheesy little Las Vegas chapel where they'd wed. Scenes from the births of their children were followed by jumpy images of first bike rides and lost teeth and scraped knees and ocean vacations and science fairs and all the other fleeting moments he hadn't taken the time to appreciate as they happened.

And now it was all gone. All of it. Ruth was dead and his children . . . His children's lives were in disarray. His son was in jail and his daughter was lost to him, her whereabouts unknown.

Max wept bitter tears and knew he had no one but himself to blame.

Finally, grieving turned into a new sense of purpose and when he next descended the stairs it was with a focused determination. When Bird looked up from the paper, Max's expression was steady.

"I'll be leaving this morning, if you've got that ID ready."

Bird stood up, opened a cabinet above the refrigerator and withdrew a yellow envelope.

"You're welcome to stay as long as you need to, but if you're ready, this is yours."

Max tore open the package and examined the contents.

"Oregon?" he asked. "An electrician?"

Bird smiled. "You learn fast. You'll pick it up."

Max's smile was brief but at least it was there before his expression turned serious again.

"I won't be back. There's only me now and . . ." He paused and cleared his throat. "If anyone is still looking for us, they'll be looking for two people. Since it's just me, I won't need to switch my identity so often."

"You're always welcome here whether you need new papers or not," Bird said sincerely. "Do you know where you're headed?"

Max drank the last of his coffee and sat the cup down on the counter with a thump.

"California," he answered. His gaze was steely as he looked at Bird. "I'm going to find my son. And then I'm going to find my daughter."

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The End

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* * *

><p><em>I've always thought that Russ knew more about Max than he was telling and that Max was in contact with him even while he watched Brennan from afar. That's my headcanon, anyway. <em>

_Thanks for reading. _


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